


Black Dog

by MissViolet



Series: Bron-Yr-Aur [3]
Category: Led Zeppelin, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Bathtubs, Boys Kissing, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Voyeurism, Water Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissViolet/pseuds/MissViolet
Summary: On their second day at Bron-Yr-Aur, Jimmy and Robert visit the local inn for a hot bath.
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Series: Bron-Yr-Aur [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779085
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	Black Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "That's the Way." Filthy, shameless porn – don’t say you weren’t warned.

It was unusual for Jimmy to wake first, but he thought, with considerable satisfaction, that the hard shagging he’d given Robert yesterday had worn him out. He’d made him come three times, the last two one right after the other, and each was burned into his memory: Robert’s lips parted, lithe golden body arching, shuddering in his passion. Robert coming in his arms was like a symphony, a Michelangelo sculpture, the sweet golden wine made from Champagne grapes. Once tasted, never forgotten. 

Robert was spent, slumbering deeply, one arm thrown over his forehead, down comforter bunched around his shoulders, but he had kicked the blankets off his bare legs, exposing his impressive morning wood. Perhaps he was dreaming of Jimmy’s cherry lips wrapped around his cock. He felt a sympathetic warmth rush to his groin looking at Robert’s cockstand. Gently, so as not to wake him, he twitched the blanket off his shoulders altogether. 

Lying on his side, one arm tossed over his head, golden curls splayed all over the pillow, Robert was a beautiful sight. Like a sleeping angel, Jimmy thought, carved by the master’s hand. He lay on his side, propped on one elbow, looking at him. Thoughts rushed into his head, the most shameless, lascivious thoughts. He thought of all they done yesterday, in this bed, Robert whimpering and begging and spurting come as he fucked him furiously, and in the countryside, under that tree, sucking him off until he groaned and pulled Jimmy’s hair as he flooded his mouth. 

It was impossible; he was bewitched. He couldn’t get his fill of the man. Just the sight of Robert sleeping made his cock throb and ache and demand attention. He took himself in hand; he had to do it. Just a little stroke, and oh, but it was nice, so nice that he exhaled sharply. Robert stirred but did not wake. He would come quickly, while Robert was still sleeping. He stroked himself and gazed at Robert rapturously, remember how he had gushed come yesterday when Jimmy fingered him, moaned helplessly when Jimmy drilled into him. The memory was so fresh that it sent a thrill through his frame, stiffened his cock, fired his blood, until he was breathless. It was good, so good. Just a little faster now, ah, just like that, and he closed his eyes, and rubbed his dick with deep sighs of pleasure, and it felt so good that he gave it a hard squeeze, and groaned, and his hand flew faster, just a little faster…..

“Having a go?” said Robert’s amused voice. Jimmy’s eyes flew open. Robert was looking right at him, grinning with delight. His hand stilled. 

“Don’t stop on my account. Fuck, it’s hot,” said Robert, with a foxy grin.

Jimmy, despite everything that had transpired between them, was momentarily embarrassed, caught off-guard. He felt like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Wanking was private. His cheeks flamed. But Robert was watching him keenly, like a scent-hound spotting prey. 

“Go on, touch yourself, darling,” he urged him. “I want to watch.”

Robert’s words sent a sexy thrill through his frame. So he wanted to watch, the naughty boy. Well, he’d show him. He lay on his back, stretched his legs out languorously, and stroked his long, stiff cock, uttering little sighs and soft groans as his pleasure mounted. 

Robert lay propped up on one elbow, watching intently. “Oh, you are beautiful,” he told him. 

His momentary embarrassment was forgotten and he stroked himself eagerly, looking at Robert from smoldering eyes half-lidded with pleasure. It felt deliciously dirty to have Robert watching him, to be getting Robert off just by doing himself. For all he had done with girls, the debauchery of the tour, this was a novelty, frigging himself as a kind of erotic spectacle for his voyeuristic lover. 

“Feels good,” he sighed as his hand found a steady rhythm.

“I bet it does,” said Robert delightedly. “Make yourself come for me, darling. I can’t wait to see it.” Robert reached over, stroked his hair away from his forehead, traced a finger over his jaw, his lips. He murmured filthy loving words about his big cock, his hot body. Jimmy quivered with delight as Robert’s dirty mouth spurred him on: _that’s right, love, yes, so good, touch yourself, make that big cock come for me, baby_.

“Oh, honey,” he moaned, his hand moving faster, his cock impossibly hard, his pleasure mounting. “Here it comes,” he sobbed out and his hand flew faster, faster, until the shock of his climax shook his frame and his legs trembled as the cream throbbed out of his cock in great long pleasurable jets. He milked himself of every last drop until he was finally softening, drenched, the pleasure melting away.

“Fantastic. Beautiful. What a way to wake up. You are fucking amazing. Darling boy!” said Robert gleefully, kissing his lips softly, tenderly tracing his fingers on his come-splattered belly. 

Jimmy, rather than being exhausted by his climax as was more typical, was strangely energized by it. He turned to Robert with a sly smile. “You’re not getting out of it.”

“Getting out of what?”

“Even Steven. You’re doing it, too. Wank yourself, I mean.”

It really didn’t take much encouragement, given Robert’s already-stiffened cock. He was not as restrained, certainly less shy about it, than was Jimmy. He took himself in hand, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“That’s right,” Jimmy encouraged him. Though his lust was temporarily sated, his aesthetic delight in looking at Robert’s magnificent body, his rippled abdomen and angular hips, and especially at his impressively large and stiff-standing tool, was undiminished. 

Robert stroked himself quite shamelessly. His legs stretched out, stiffened, he uttered soft little cries as his hand quickened, the silver rings on his fingers flashing as he pushed himself closer to the edge. 

“Feel so good,” he whispered to Jimmy, and he stroked himself, legs tensing and trembling with his imminent release. His head was thrown back against the pillows, eyes closed, lips parted, breathing hard, close, so close. 

“Look at me,” said Jimmy forcefully, cupping his hand beneath Robert’s chin and tipping his head downward. “I want you to look at me when you come.” 

Robert opened his eyes, gazed into Jimmy’s, which were burning with passion. He tried to stay locked on Jimmy’s eyes, demanding, dark, and fiery, thrilling him to the core. But it was too intense, his eyes closed as he flew closer to ecstasy, and his hand sped faster and faster on his straining prick, until finally, with a hard moan, his juice left him, squirting onto his belly, spilling into his hand, soaking him. 

Breathing hard, he met Jimmy’s eyes at last as he pumped out the last few drops, legs quivering, until finally he was still and spent. 

“Brilliant,” Jimmy told him. “Just bloody gorgeous. You hot little crumpet.” 

They kissed softly, tenderly, for the erotic spectacle each had just witnessed was as intimate as anything they’d done before (and they had done a lot). 

“We are filthy, and not in a good way,” said Robert. His hand rubbed the pool of come on his belly, wandered over to touch Jimmy’s, equally drenched. 

“There’s really no way to bathe here?” asked Jimmy. “Other than the bloody creek?” he added hurriedly, remembering the way the icy swim yesterday made his bones hurt. 

“Sometimes we use the watering can. We fill it up at the pump and pour it over each other.”

“That sounds worse than the creek. I need a shave,” said Jimmy, running his hand over his stubbly jaw. “Let’s go to the inn, get a hot bath. Proper meal wouldn’t hurt, either.” 

They made their way downstairs and Robert drew them water for a quick, cold, uncomfortable wash, then he put the kettle on. Jimmy, as he had done the day before, picked up his acoustic, lit a cigarette, and began to noodle around with soft, pastoral tunes of his own devising. 

Robert knew by now that it was his morning routine, the coffee, the cigarette, the guitar. He left him to it while he made breakfast over the woodstove. They had a light meal: soft-boiled egg, toast, and jam for Robert, buttered toast and more coffee for Jimmy.

“I’ve got a spare shirt for you,” said Robert, collecting some things to take to the inn and packing them into a canvas duffel. A green-and-white striped buttoned shirt for Jimmy, a soft white kurta for himself. He packed shaving kit, shampoo, soap, bath sponge, fresh socks, and a couple of pairs of jeans.

“Not sure about these jeans, they’re probably too big for your skinny arse.”

“Since you wear them ridiculously tight, they should be the right size,” said Jimmy. 

They made their way out to the Land Rover, and Robert slung the duffel bag in the back. At the end of the drive, there was once again the routine with the gate: out of the car to open, back into the car, drive through, out of the car to close, back into the car…. Country living did have its drawbacks, aside from the lack of indoor plumbing.

The inn was a five-mile drive to the small town of Machynlleth, and Robert stopped for petrol along the way at a tiny little service station with two pumps. It was manned by an elderly old geezer in coveralls who seemed too old to still be standing up, much less pumping gas. Robert hurriedly jumped down from the truck. 

“Good day, Mr. Griffiths,” he said, taking the gas nozzle from the pump. “I’ll have a full tank, not a problem to pump it myself,” he said, fitting the nozzle to the gas tank. Jimmy realized that he didn’t want the old fellow doing it, even if it was his job. 

“Very good, Robert,” he said rather somberly. “Anything else?” 

“A Coke, please.” Mr. Griffiths shuffled away, and returned with the Coke, and Robert paid him and they were on their way to the inn. Robert passed the Coke to Jimmy to open for him, and they shared it as he drove. 

“Old fellow won’t retire.” Robert explained. “It’s not a question of money. His wife has bread. He just loves that service station. But he really is too old to be pumping gas. He could work the cash register, but he won’t let anyone else touch the pumps. Stubborn old coot,” said Robert, not without admiration. 

Beddoe’s Inn was once a coaching inn occupying, as so many inns do, a leafy crossroads, one of which led to Cardiff. It had been transformed into a tile-roofed, green-shuttered country pub with a half-dozen bedrooms upstairs, rarely occupied except by the occasional wedding or funeral guest. The pub half of the building generated most of its income. The other half was a large dining room and kitchen and the stairs to the second-floor bedrooms.

“Good day, Mrs. Beddoe,” Robert said loudly as he strode into the dining room. “She’s a little deaf,” he explained to Jimmy as they approached the corner table where the proprietress sat thumbing through receipts. 

Mrs. Beddoe was a handsome middle-aged lady, with a full head of auburn curls, large brown eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses, and a beige hearing aid sticking out of one ear. A big black Labrador sat at her feet, thumping his tail gladly as Robert approached.

“Hallo, Buster, hallo, good old boy,” Robert said, in that special voice he used only for dogs. He stroked his ears while Buster wagged his tail, wiggling with excitement. He gave him a Milk Bone that he had put in his pocket for just that purpose.

“Robert, we’ve been expecting you. Awbrey said you were intending to bathe in the creek and of course it’s far too cold this time of year, I figured you’d be in for a hot bath.” Mrs. Beddoe paused thumbing through receipts and opened a leather-covered ledger. “You can have your pick, as always dear, we are at full vacancy.”

“You know I always take the best one, Mrs. B.,” said Robert, grinning. “This is my friend Jimmy Page. The guitarist.”

“Nice to meet you, young man,” Mrs. Beddoe said mildly, seemingly unaware she was checking half the biggest rock band in the world into her modest establishment. “Have some lunch after you bathe. Cook’s got a couple of legs of lamb roasting, some lovely potatoes and new peas, or you can have fried brook trout, and blueberry pie for pudding.”

“Sounds grand. Mrs. Beddoe. We’ll just clean up and shave and come down later for a bite.” He signed the book and Mrs. Beddoe handed him the key.

The best room turned out to be rather plain, containing nothing more than a big brass double bed, piled with the usual mountain of down comforters and wool blankets, a wooden dresser, nightstand, and bureau, but it had a tiny wood stove and best of all, a spacious private bathroom, with a big old-fashioned clawfoot tub. 

“Now we’re talking,” said Jimmy, turning on the tap. Hot water gushed out. He stopped the drain and let it fill. Robert fished a bottle of shampoo from his bag and squirted some under the stream of water to make it bubbly. 

“Who goes first?” asked Jimmy when the bath was full. 

“Together, obvs!” said Robert, and so they undressed and climbed in together, facing each other, legs tangled, only a little cramped, splashing slightly over the edge of the bath as their combined bodies raised the water level. 

Jimmy sighed contentedly as he leaned back into the hot water. It was almost up to his shoulders. He wondered why he always felt squashed and uncomfortable in modern tubs when 50 years ago, everyone had one like this, deep enough to soak one’s whole body, big enough for two. 

“Soak first, then wash, is how I like to do it,” said Robert. “But we can always give it a refill. We can use as much hot water as we like,” he added with satisfaction. 

Jimmy couldn’t help but smile at the low bar Robert set for his happiness. The hot water relaxed him, made him feel a sense of peace and contentment. 

“Maybe better if we face the same way,” said Robert, and with some difficulty turned himself around, so that he was leaning back into Jimmy, their legs facing the same direction. It was of course a ploy to bring them together into an embrace. Robert lolled back against him, and Jimmy’s arms came up around him, and he basked in the heat, the water, the closeness, the scent of Robert’s hair, the feel of his legs tensing against his own, the unspoken electric signal traveling between their bodies. Something about Robert made him feel insatiable. He simply could not get enough of him. The limit was merely his mortal body, which could take only some much love-making in one go, but his mind, exhilarated with the freshness of love, wanted it to go on and on. 

He ran his fingers through Robert’s tangled locks, catching his fingers in the knots. “Your hair is a mess, mate. It’s more snarls than hair.” 

“Wash it for me, love.” Robert leaned over the tub and handed him the bottle of shampoo. “This stuff is supposed to get the knots out.”

The label on the bottle depicted a little girl. It was a shampoo for children. “No More Tears” Jimmy read aloud, giggling. 

“I can’t get the bloody comb through it,” Robert explained sheepishly. “Thought this would help.” 

Jimmy was momentarily puzzled as to how he was going to accomplish the shampoo, especially the rinsing, until Robert pointed to the showerhead hanging over the taps. It was on a long hose, designed to allow the bather to have a shower while sitting in the bath. On the fittings was a lever to flip the tap from the faucet to the showerhead. Jimmy flipped the lever, turned on the tap. He sprayed Robert’s hair, lifting the heavy locks, making sure the underside was equally drenched. Then he squirted a blob of shampoo into his hands. It was a pale honey color, the same color as Robert’s hair, in fact, and it felt slippery between his fingers. He worked the shampoo in, sudsing it up, massaging his scalp, while Robert leaned into him, practically purring in contentment. 

It was a sensuous experience, Robert leaning back against him while he lathered his thick locks, stroked his neck and shoulders with his slippery, soapy hands. He didn’t want to stop, but the extra water from the showerhead was making the bath too full. He turned it off just as it got perilously close to splashing over, and lifted the plug to let it drain down a little. Then he kissed the back of Robert’s neck, sudsy as it was. That was a bit of a distraction, especially when Robert craned his head and demanded a kiss on the lips, and that led to open-mouthed kissing, and then their hot tongues twined together and Robert moaned as he felt Jimmy’s erection pressing into his back. 

“We drained too much,” said Jimmy. He stopped the tub again. They had been so distracted kissing that the tub water was barely covering their knees. He turned on the showerhead again, and rinsed Robert’s hair clean of shampoo. It felt squeaky clean under his fingers, and a lot less tangled, though he suspected it would still take some patient work with a comb. 

Playfully, he let the showerhead spray all over Robert’s chest, his belly, and his cock, only just beginning to grow stiff. Robert gasped with the unexpected pleasure of the water hitting his most sensitive parts. 

“Does that feel good?” asked Jimmy, surprised. He hadn’t expected it to, had only expected to tease him a little, but Robert was now sporting a huge cockstand.

“Unbelievable. Do it again,” panted Robert. Jimmy let the spray move slowly up and down his cock, while Robert twitched and softly moaned and grew stiffer and stiffer. Fascinated, Jimmy directed the spray over the head of his cock, then right under it at that devilishly-sensitive spot. 

“Ohhh! Ohhh!” Robert moaned ecstatically as the spray pounded down on his delighted prick. Jimmy moved the showerhead slowly, teasingly, down to his bollocks, up the shaft, and then let it cascade over the swollen head. Robert writhed in his arms, his beautiful lips parted as he gasped and moaned. He had gone from soft to rock-hard in just seconds.

Jimmy wielded the teasing spray with wicked precision. He caressed his straining prick, he whispered soft blandishments in his ear, and he worked the spray up and down, pausing lovingly to let it wash down on the big throbbing head, to lash the underside. One arm held Robert tightly around the chest, lips to his ear, the other used the spray to rake his cock until he thrashed about and whispered those words that always brought a thrill to Jimmy’s dark, lustful heart: _oh, please_.

He would have gone on and one with his watery teasing, fascinated with the rapid and intense effect of the jets, but Robert couldn’t take any more. With a great shudder and groaning plea to _do it, Jimmy_ , he started to come, and Jimmy obligingly let the spray pulse under the head of his cock as he moaned and spurted. Each creamy jet was rinsed away by the unyielding, constant, watery spray. Robert’s thighs quivered, his body tensed, and his spend went on and on until finally with a moan of relief his body relaxed, his cock softened, and he leaned boneless into Jimmy’s arms. 

“That was wild,” Jimmy said, kissing his neck. “I had no idea the water could do that.” 

“Neither did I,” said Robert, “but you can bet I won’t forget it.” 

The bath was cooling, so Jimmy turned the tap on again, let it run until the bath was three-quarters full, and then turned it off again. “Do my hair?” he asked, handing Robert the shampoo.

They switched positions and Robert took the showerhead to Jimmy’s black curls, saturating them, and then working in the shampoo lovingly, fingertips massaging his scalp. Jimmy leaned back into him, sighing with pleasure. 

Robert rinsed his hair and then leaned down to whisper in his ear, “You must be dying to try it.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” said Jimmy, grinning. He was already hard from watching Robert’s explosive, lighting-fast climax. And when Robert moved the spray up and down his cock, it was so good that he instantly grew stiff and throbbing. It simply wasn’t like any other sexual thrill he had experienced, not like fucking, or being sucked or licked. It was a light, teasing, precise pleasure, and the spray pulsed against his cock in a way that was too slow and yet too fast, not quite hard enough and yet too hard. It made his legs tense and shake, his head loll back, his mouth half-open, panting, gasping, pleading, begging just like Robert, _please, oh please_.

“I won’t tease you the way you tease me, you naughty boy,” whispered Robert affectionately, and he held the spray steady, letting it wash over the head of his cock, and then against the spot, the very spot on the underside, that made him whimper. A riot of pleasure washed over him, and then, more slowly than it seemed possible, his orgasm started, hung suspended, pushing him right to the edge, the very edge, of erotic torment, and then he exploded. With a sob his come gushed out, and Robert tickled his delighted prick with the spray, teasing out the last spurts, while he moaned and trembled and finally pushed the showerhead away when it was too much.

“I’m getting one of those in all my bathrooms,” he told Robert in between kisses. They rinsed off and finally emerged from the bath with shrunken fingers and soft, spent dicks, both of which were entirely temporary conditions. 

They shaved and dressed and went down to the dining room for their supper, sharing the fried trout and the leg o’ lamb, passing the plates back and forth, and both ate a mountain of food, restoring their strength after their erotic marathon of the last few days. They washed it down with pints of the local ale, and they finished with warm blueberry pie with vanilla ice cream, then coffee, brandy, and cigarettes. 

“That was grand,” said Jimmy, sipping his coffee with the utmost satisfaction. He had splashed a little brandy in it, and with this post-prandial treat, not to mention the languor in his limbs from the hard spend under the water jets, he felt loose and easy. 

“Which part did you like best?” asked Robert, looking at him with a cheeky grin.

“The pie, of course,” he said mischievously. “And everything that came before. Everyone who came before,” he amended, winking at Robert, who was lingering over his pie, eating the melting ice cream slowly. He put a spoonful of ice cream to his lips and ate it leisurely, looking at Jimmy to see if he was watching. 

Jimmy was, of course, watching the slow, luxurious way he licked the spoon, then licked his pink, creamy lips. He was thinking of his own cream spilling into Robert’s pretty mouth, and he felt his face grow warm, and a rush of heat shot straight to his groin.

“We could stay here. I paid for the room through tomorrow. If you want hot baths and meals, I mean,” Robert said coyly. 

“No. I want to be alone with you. Completely alone, with no one else for miles,” said Jimmy forcefully. His heart blazed with passion, and his eyes were so laden with meaning that Robert blushed and sipped at his coffee to keep his composure. 

Jimmy was secretly delighted that he could still make Robert blush. Robert, who moaned shamelessly, in bed and on stage, who appeared to be so in touch with his sexuality, strutting about half-clad, showing off his body, whispering filthy sweet nothings to Jimmy as they tangled together in the sheets. And there he was, stirring his coffee, looking down, blushing like a maiden. Yet under the table his leg stretched out his calf brushed against Jimmy’s, and he just settled it there, not moving, but somehow making that connection of their lower legs as intimate as a kiss. 

It was Jimmy’s turn to lose his composure. Under the table, his leg tensed, quivered, against Robert’s. He crushed out his cigarette, drained his coffee, looked at Robert with smoldering eyes. 

Robert just smiled as he scraped up the last of the melting ice cream and put the spoon to his lips again, licked it clean, then pushed his plate away in satisfaction. He sipped at the last dregs of his coffee. Jimmy stood up and took the mug from his hand and put it firmly on the table. 

“Can’t a man finish his coffee?” said Robert. 

“Let’s roll, you incorrigible tease,” Jimmy told him.

“Oh, but darling, you love being teased, don’t you?” said Robert mischievously. And he did love it, the way Robert had touched his leg under the table, licked the cream from his spoon, the endless flirting, the anticipation. It was maddening; he was insatiable for Robert, no sooner did they lie together than he wanted him again. 

Robert walked ahead of him through the dining room and out the front door, stopping to pat the black dog lazing on the warm flagstones. The late afternoon sunlight glinted in his hair, which was now fluffed dry into golden ringlets. Later, Jimmy would take a comb to those pretty curls and tease out every last tangle. Dreams of Robert at his most wanton danced through his head as they walked to the truck. The prospect of another night in Robert’s arms made his heart stutter, his legs feel weak. He would try and try, oh, how he would try, but there was a flame in his heart; he couldn’t get his fill.

**Author's Note:**

> “Things like ‘Black Dog’ are blatant let's-do-it-in-the-bath-type things, but they make their point just the same.” – Robert Plant, 1975
> 
> The song was named after a black dog at Headley Grange, not Machynlleth, but I took some artistic license.


End file.
